Eddie was pissed. The Sunday Morning Surprise was his brainchild. The plan was to start the cut in the plot they’d gotten approved for, then, “Oops,” catch enough trees in lot 2-86 that the whole habitat argument would be moot. By starting early on Sunday, the cutting would be done before anyone was the wiser. He was proud of the cunning, and he secretly expected that it would impress the boss. So, when he got the call from Atlas to shut it all down, amidst the revving engines, screaming chainsaws, and chanting hippies, he wanted to slam the CB radio mic into the dashboard of the company truck.
“It’s bad for our image,” Jamison said.
“Sir. A show of force is just what we need.”
“I don’t disagree with you, but for now, let’s take a beat and consider a new angle.”
Eddie snorted in exaspe
